


For Want of a Boot

by virdant



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Humor, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Culture, POV First Person, Pirates, Planet Tatooine (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27081448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virdant/pseuds/virdant
Summary: Our erstwhile narrator knows what all space truckers know: Tatooine is where ships go to die. They're about to experience it for themselves.--Oh, ships always disappear. They malfunction, they drift, they get lost along the hyperspace lanes. But Tatooine—everybody knew that Tatooine was where you went if you wanted your ship to break down. If you wanted to get gouged out of your hard-earned credits paying for half-broken parts, then take a detour towards Tatooine. If you wanted to watch patch jobs fall apart and engines die, then head towards Tatooine. The second you got near its orbit, your ship would suddenly be on its last legs, barely chugging along as it fell through atmosphere.Tatooine was a trap, and everybody knew it.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 42





	For Want of a Boot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Margan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Margan/gifts), [Kittyhawk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittyhawk/gifts), [LacieFuyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LacieFuyu/gifts).



> for my weird hours mandalorian watch crew! ty for the fun weird hours.
> 
> special thanks to margan who prompted me with: "what if there was a mandalorian who didn't want to fight but wore the armor just because he was intimidating. WHAT IF WE HAD TRUCKER MANDO"
> 
> well, here's some trucker mando. :)

Most important thing in my line of work? Never go near Tatooine. 

Oh, it wasn’t because of the Hutts or anything; going into Hutt Space was fine. And it wasn’t because it was in the Outer Rim. I spent more than enough time in the Outer Rim.

No. Tatooine was a class all on its own.

Don’t go near there, they said. Tatooine’s where ships go to disappear.

And I tried, oh I tried. I did my shipping routes and made sure to never get closer than a parsec away from Tatooine. You don’t get much choice, but I traded favors and bribed and intimidated my way to making sure I never had to get anywhere close to that god forsaken planet.

And then one thing led to another, and I learned exactly why I should have avoided Tatooine.

* * *

Let’s start at the beginning.

Like all good Mandos, they put a blaster in my hand when I was a child and taught me how to shoot. But while the other kids my age learned how to hit a moving target dozens of kliks away, I never quite got the hang of it. Oh, I could point, and I could shoot, but I was no good at it. While my fellow classmates set to work wrestling in the dirt, I preferred not to go around bashing heads against the ground.

My parents despaired. What good was I, a Mandalorian who wouldn’t fight? And, by most metrics in the galaxy, I would have been considered a perfectly respectable fighter, capable of defending myself. But by Mandalorian standards, I was a failure. I preferred to talk my way out of a situation. I dreamed not of glory, but of a nice peaceful life among the stars.

I suppose that was one thing that I did have in common. Like other Mandalorians, I had the insatiable lust to go beyond my hometown. But I wasn’t inclined to go forth and conquer.

No. I just wanted to see places.

There aren’t many job opportunities available, when you’re Mandalorian. Mostly you’re expected to fight. But I found a nice job with a shipping company as a pilot for a freighter. It gave me a way to go out among the stars. It gave me a way to visit the different planets of the galaxy. It gave me a chance to go forth without conquering. And it paid pretty well too, especially since I didn’t mind the long-haul jobs.

There was just one slight problem.

It all started a few months into the job. I was peacefully making my way across the galaxy with a bunch of cargo in the hold when there was a sudden lurch and the ship dropped out of hyperspace. My first instinct was that the engine of the piece of junk that I was flying had given out, but I quickly realized otherwise.

Pirates.

You hear about pirates a lot. The scourge of all good freighter pilots. They’d drop out of nowhere, hold you at blasterpoint, steal your goods, and then move on. If you bought the company’s frankly exorbitant insurance package, then the theft didn’t come out of your pocket. But if you were just starting out and poor, then it was a couple months of paychecks down the drain as you paid back all the goods that were stolen.

So here I was, only a few months into the job, with barely a cushion to keep me afloat if the pirates actually took all of my cargo, flipping switches in a valiant attempt to Get Out Of Here Fast. But for all my attempts, my freighter remained firmly lifeless and drifting, even as I saw the ominous sight of pirates looming.

I only had a few minutes to act. I had my blaster, because I was Mandalorian enough that I didn’t go anywhere without at least one weapon on me. I also had a spare blaster, because I was also Mandalorian enough to know that one weapon was never enough. I had at least another two, but I also only had two hands, so I slung those into their holsters and pulled them on. I also had the flamethrower attached to a vambrace—

That’s when I came to a realization. I had a full suit of Mandalorian armor in my closet, because, well, my parents did worry so. And, while I certainly wasn’t inclined to go forth and wage war in it, it certainly wouldn’t _hurt_ to pull it on while the pirates came. For one thing, while I didn’t _want_ to use a flamethrower in this perfectly decent freighter that I was renting, it certainly couldn’t hurt to have it just in case.

So while the ship rattled and groaned as the pirates set to work boarding it, I hustled into my very small private quarters and began trying to put on a full suit of armor by myself.

The cargo bay doors were creaking open as I finished jamming my feet into boots. I flung my helmet onto my head, and then promptly ran into the door as I attempted to make my way out.

“Well now!” one of the pirates called. “Hand over your cargo, and nobody needs to get hurt.”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” I tried, clanking my way towards where I thought the pirates were, because the HUD still wasn’t working right, probably from sitting in a closet unused for a few months. I tried to turn to face the pirates, but between the broken HUD, the shaded visor, and the echoing acoustics of the helmet, I really couldn’t say for sure if I was facing the right direction or not.

Still, never let it be said that I wouldn’t try to talk my way out of a situation. I put my hand on my hip, squared my posture, and said, “Well, boys. Let’s come to an agreement.”

We came to an agreement, alright. With a few panicked shouts of “It’s a Mando!” and another few hasty apologies, the pirates left my ship and cargo intact, and even threw in a very nice bottle of rum for the inconvenience.

And, after I managed to pull off all of the armor, realized that my very small problem was less of a problem than I had anticipated.

* * *

So I had a job. I had some protection. I was travelling the galaxy, checking out planets, putting aside some cash for savings. It was, really, everything I could have hoped for.

And I never went anywhere near Tatooine.

You might be wondering what the problem with Tatooine is. I wasn’t sure myself, for a while. After all, there’re plenty of planets controlled by the Hutts. There are plenty of desert planets not worth visiting. But none of them are quite like Tatooine.

Tatooine, you see, is where ships go to disappear.

Oh, ships always disappear. They malfunction, they drift, they get lost along the hyperspace lanes. But Tatooine—everybody knew that Tatooine was where you went if you wanted your ship to break down. If you wanted to get gouged out of your hard-earned credits paying for half-broken parts, then take a detour towards Tatooine. If you wanted to watch patch jobs fall apart and engines die, then head towards Tatooine. The second you got near its orbit, your ship would suddenly be on its last legs, barely chugging along as it fell through atmosphere.

Tatooine was a trap, and everybody knew it.

Rates to deliver cargo to Tatooine were high as a result. Probably wasn’t fair for those poor sods who decided to make their home on that dust ball, but neither was it far to us pilots who had to watch our ships break down the minute we went into the sector. Even with the good pay, you were hard pressed to find somebody willing to take a job to Tatooine. I certainly wasn’t.

And then one thing led to another, all of the favors I’d managed to accumulate ran out, my sister decided that she wanted to go to art school and we were trying to scrounge up the tuition, and I was looking at the available jobs and the only ones left were ones to Tatooine.

Tatooine.

Where ships go to break.

I tried, I really did. I called up a buddy, I waved my arms around while wearing Granddad’s reforged armor, I refreshed the job list a dozen times. But, well, my sister still had her heart set on art school, and that tuition wasn’t going to pay itself, so I grit my teeth and picked the easiest looking job to Tatooine.

And then I grabbed my armor, gave the helmet a few knocks to get the HUD working again, and started making my way to pick up the cargo I was delivering to that dustball on the Outer Rim.

* * *

I don’t pay much attention to what I’m delivering. I’m paid to get boxes from point A to point B, and I don’t need to know what’s in the boxes to do my job. They give us a cargo manifest when we pick up the goods. They check it with us, we confirm we’ve got it all, and then we head off on our way. Some of the others, they like to do the jobs with a bunch of little drop-offs, but I’ve never cared for those. I wanted to see every planet, and more than just a docking bay. So I always picked the long jobs, the ones that meant I’d be hauling cargo across the galaxy and spending a couple of days in my ship. I’d take an extra day on the planet to refuel and make any repairs, pick up a new job, continue on my way.

But call me curious, I wanted to know what was going to Tatooine.

So I did more than just look at the manifest while the droids were loading the goods. I really dug into it. Most of it seemed pretty reasonable—plenty of foodstuffs, which made sense since Tatooine was a desert. Mostly nonperishables. But there were also several cold-boxes of perishables, all hooked up to my trusty rust-bucket’s power supply, and that, well, that set off all sorts of alarms in my head.

This job was looking less and less pleasant.

Still, a job’s a job. I made sure everything was loaded up and then clanked my way, armor and all, back onto my ship. I got the nav computer running, programmed the jump, and then let the auto-pilot run while I took off the armor and got comfortable for three days of living in my ship.

The first day was fine. I caught up on some holodrama that my sister had insisted was all the rage. It wasn’t bad—some swashbuckling story about a little Jedi kid saving a bunch of young kids fighting in a war. It was the type of story that stopped making too much sense if you thought about it; why were kids fighting? How was every single adult a deadbeat parent who let their kids go fight in a war? Still, it made for great entertainment. 

The second day wasn’t bad either. I finished the holodrama and spent some time on the next book from some Top 100 Books You Should Read list. I was almost done with it too; I finished all the books that looked interesting already, and this one was a bit of a slog, some long historical Alderaanian epic romance. Still, I worked my way through another few chapters, checking on the nav computer the whole time.

The third day, the lights flickered and the engine let out a sad little whine as we approached Tatooine.

“Ah, kriff,” I muttered, throwing my datapad aside and stomping my way towards the engine room. 

The engine breaking down wasn’t that big of a deal on most trips. But this trip had a bunch of cold-boxes, and those were hooked up to the power supply. With the engine supplying the bulk of the power to keep those boxes cold, any breakdown meant not only having to pay for repairs, but also having to pay for a failed delivery.

And I wasn’t going to have that on my account.

So there I was, arms deep in the engine room, which meant mostly that I was cursing at the engine and occasionally kicking it for good measure, trying to get it up and running again. I pulled on a beskar boot and gave the engine a good few kicks, and it let out a little grumble but it kept on working, but there was no way that I was going to be able to make it off Tatooine without paying for some mechanic to rip me off.

“Kriff,” I muttered again.

There was no sign if the engine would hold for the rest of the trip, but at least I knew I was close to Tatooine now. I gave the engine a pat for good measure, glared around at the auxiliary power to make sure it knew not to give out on me, tossed said boot into a corner, and then stomped my way back into the cockpit to check on where we were.

Sure enough, right on the edge of the Tatooine sector.

I was pretty sure even with the engine giving out that this old rust bucket could make it to Tatooine. I’d have to pay out the nose for repairs, which meant less money to the art school fund, but it wasn’t as bad as it could be.

And then there was an ominous rumble.

Pirates.

* * *

I have a way of dealing with pirates. I put on the armor, they get very apologetic, and we all go on our ways. I might not care for conquering the galaxy, but there’s some truth to the reputation, and if it means I get to deliver my cargo in peace, then I’m all for putting on some armor whenever pirates come around.

But pirates, now? When my engine was already busted and I had crates of perishables just waiting to rot?

I hadn’t quite finished pulling on my armor when I heard the ominous creaking that meant they were prying the hatch open. I’d managed the breastplate, and I had one boot on, but the other boot was… somewhere in the engine room where I’d thrown it after getting the engine up and running. I stuffed my arms into the vambraces and stuck the helmet on my head, because, well, better some armor than no armor.

And then I waddled my way out towards the hatch, one foot bare, and tried to look menacing at the pirates.

“Man—do?” the pirates shouted, before trailing in confusing at what was clearly a Mandalorian missing a boot.

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” I said, as I always did.

“Right,” the pirates replied. It was hard to see them, since I still hadn’t gotten the HUD fixed, and Mandalorian helmets weren’t made for peripheral vision. They were vaguely humanoid, but that was about all I could tell. “You’re missing a boot.”

“Am I?” I raised my eyebrow, but there was no sign if they actually could tell I was doing so. Helmets were problematic, in that regard.

“Of course not, of course not,” the pirate spokesperson said, hastily. “No, you are not missing a boot at all. But uh, well, I could give you a boot, in exchange for your cargo?”

A Mandalorian without a boot, you see, was not very intimidating at all.

“Absolutely not.” I crossed my arms, for good measure. This was, I had been told by my parents, very intimidating. My sister found it mostly funny, but I thought it was better to listen to my parents on this regard. “How about you leave, and I pretend this never happened.”

There was another pause, and then the pirate spokesperson said, “One crate of cargo?”

The longer this conversation went on, the more likely my poor engine would give out and the perishables _would_ rot. Still, “I don’t need a boot. I’ve got one. I need you off my ship so I can put it on.”

The pirate considered this, and for a moment I had hope, and then the engine let out another sad whine and the lights went out.

* * *

Nothing good comes of going near Tatooine.

I knew this, of course I did. Everybody knew the rumors. But I had been foolish and hopeful, and now I was paying the price.

The engine was out, the cargo was going to rot, and I had pirates on my ship.

Oh, and I was missing a boot.

“Listen, sirs,” I said. “Surely we can come to an agreement here.”

“I don’t think so,” the pirate spokesperson said. There was a very menacing tone to his voice. “Hand over your cargo, and I’ll let you go.”

Now, I don’t like fighting. I never have. But I’m a Mandalorian, and this means that my parents put a blaster in my hands when I was a young child and taught me how to shoot. And my parents, bless their heart, were understanding of my career choice, but every time I visited them they still dragged me out into the yard to practice my aim.

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” I tried, again. “I would really rather not have to fight you.”

The pirate scoffed. “I’m not scared of some fakie bastard missing a boot.”

Now, I don’t particularly care for fighting, and wearing the armor and not marching to war certainly qualified me for being a “fakie” as the pirate said, but my parents were happily married when they had me, and I was most certainly not a bastard.

“Now that’s rude,” I said, and that’s when we started firing.

* * *

So by the time I finally landed in Tatooine, my engine was, despite another good kick to it, completely broken, the cargo was most certainly damaged from the shootout, and the perishables were well on their way to rot. I dropped off the goods, accepted my pay and promptly dropped the majority of it on paying for the damages and repairs, and then went to a cantina to get as drunk as I could.

It was only then, as I was sitting on a stool with a drink in hand, that I realized that I still was missing a boot.

**Author's Note:**

> here's how you can find me:
> 
>   * find me in salt flats
>   * Follow me on twitter [@virdant](http://www.twitter.com/virdant/)
>   * [Like & retweet on twitter](https://twitter.com/virdant/status/1317828810868322305)
>   * Comment and kudo below
> 



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